Writer, Filmmaker, Mother, Grandmother
Yesterday, the 26th of May, marked six months since my beautiful daddy died on the 26th of November 2024. It also marks six painfully long months since I caressed my fingers around his, his voice no longer even a whisper, his light fading. In the early hours of that morning, I kissed him goodbye, praying… Continue reading Yesterday, today and tomorrow.
When we were making the funeral arrangements for my dad's requiem mass and committal, Friday the 13th emerged as the first available date, but I didn't baulk at it. A date with such negative connotations was fitting. How could anything be positive on the day I would publicly say goodbye to my father? As it… Continue reading By God, the old man could handle a spade. Just like his old man.
This is PhD chat, but because my PhD thesis is autoethnographical, it is also entwined in the personal by both circumstance and design. In my last update about my writing journey, I spoke about how I wanted to be able to finish my last draft chapter before Christmas, in the hope of spending the first… Continue reading PhD draft. Breathe in, not out.
I'm now four months into my PhD at Stirling (you can read more about my research here). It has passed quickly and it has been a challenging and rewarding time. For the first couple of months of my PhD, my mum was seriously ill in hospital. I tried to visit her every weekday - expect… Continue reading PhD life.
Grief is a monster. A parasite as heavy as sin that clings brutally to the emptiness that loss exhumes. It steals your breath, shocking your body at every turn, luring your soul into the slow tide of darkness. A bleak and endless eruption of eerie silence it rises methodically to the surface, piercing any hint of… Continue reading Grief is an emotional amputation.
Margot McCuaig 